Duncan's lair wasn't built for show. It was built to swallow and house the most devious secrets.
High ceilings, exposed beams, Metal walkways up top where his men could move without a sound from below. Cameras tucked in every corner like patient little spiders. Lights low , carving out only what mattered and drowning the rest in black. The walls were thick, padded, the kind that ate echoes before they even started. Footsteps died. Voices stayed put. Nothing escaped unless Duncan wanted it to.
Right now the only sounds in the whole damn place were wet, filthy, and coming from the long polished table at the center of a well decorated room in there.
